It has been some time since I've shared a poem, but as I can't sleep, I thought I might...
The hours steal by with still, unasking lips— So lightly that I cannot hear their tread; And softly touch me with their finger-tips To find if I be dreaming, or be dead.
And yet however still their flight may be, Their ceaseless going weights my heart with tears; These touches will have wrought deep scars on me— When the light hours have worn to heavy years.